


The Good Thing

by nightshiftblues



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Cheating, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Genderbending, Hatesex, Infidelity, Jamilton - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, fem!alex, fem!jefferson, hello naughty children time for another 'alex cheats on john with jefferson'-fic, lesbian edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshiftblues/pseuds/nightshiftblues
Summary: Alex, as always, unfolds under Jefferson’s touch. There’s nothing soothing or liberating about it.This is where my Jamilton femslash oneshots go to die.





	The Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> In my brain I’ve cast [Zoe Saldana](http://images.latintimes.com/sites/latintimes.com/files/styles/large/public/2017/02/22/zoe-saldana.png) as Hamilton, [DeWanda Wise ](http://cdn2.darkhorizons.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/dewanda-wise-joins-spike-lees-she-remake.jpg)as Jefferson, and [Rosario Dawson](http://cdn-img.instyle.com/sites/default/files/styles/684xflex/public/1503084618/081817-rosario-dawnson-LEAD2.jpg?itok=R4_UQ62T) as Laurens, respectively. You of course are free to do whatever you want with your brain.

Streetlights are flickering on by the time Hamilton makes it out of the office again. The upside is that the worst of the 5 o’clock rush is well past and she gets to mope alone at the back of the bus without having to listen to overworked nine to five-ers and their screaming spawn.

Halfway home it occurs to her that she was supposed to stop by at Krispy Kreme to pick up a Strawberry Gloss for Joan. God knows she deserves the random act of kindness. God knows she deserves better than-

Alex nips that unhelpful train of thought in the bud before it grows into a full-blown Guilt Express. Or something. Even her metaphors are nonsensical, it’s been a long day.

She stops dragging her feet and wipes the bitchy expression off her face as she walks up their driveway, or tries to at least. No point acting tired and cranky at home when she’s the one who makes the choice to work overtime day after day. Alex may be a shitty doughnut-forgetting girlfriend, but taking her work-related frustrations out on her partner is something even Alexandra likes to think she’s above of.

She fishes a bundle of keys from the bottom of her bag, fits it into the lock and- Wait.

Alex frowns as the key won’t turn, or even fit all the way in properly.

“What the fuck?” she mutters as a few more attempts prove fruitless. Has some kid vandalised their lock? It doesn’t seem like there’s something stuffed inside it though, the key just won’t _fit._

The door does open in a few moments, but from the inside. It slides uninvitingly half-open, the way a door is opened for a salesman by a person who is too polite to pretend not to be home.

As soon as Alex sees Joan’s face she knows that she knows. Her eyes are dry but red-rimmed; they sweep wordlessly over Alexandra’s figure as if in search of a mark on her skin, a piece of clothing slightly out of place.

Hercules stands further back in the hallway. His eyes are fixed onto some unknown target near the floor.

Alex lowers her hand, the one that’s still gripping the useless bundle of keys. “You changed the locks,” she states.

“Yeah.”

Selfishly, Alex wants to break the silence. Make Joan scream and yell at her until their voices are hoarse and the neighbours start to peek curiously between their curtains. Ask how she found out, if it was Hercules or some e-mail she discovered while snooping on her laptop. Joan could call her out for having the nerve to try and blame her for breaching her privacy and they could scream at each other rather than have Joan just look at her like this, like nothing’s left to be said. Like she knew all along this is where it would end up.

“Baby, I-”

“How long?” The visceral anger in Joan’s voice hits Alex like a physical thing, like a rubber band that snaps unexpectedly and leaves a red, stinging mark. “Actually don’t answer that,” she laughs and it’s the hollowest sound Alex has heard her make. “Why don’t you go to another emergency late-night meeting? I don’t care as long as you leave.”

“I’ll bring your stuff wherever tomorrow,” Hercules says quietly over Joan’s shoulder. He doesn’t look at Alex and that almost hurts more. She’d never thought her first ever roommate capable of, even for a moment, looking like he didn’t believe in Alexandra’s ability to do better.

The door snaps closed.

The bundle of keys hangs loosely in her grip. There’s a rumble in the distance and Alex nearly laughs at the chlichedness of it, being left to stand there in pouring rain. She knows that if she stays there and it really does start to rain and she raps gently on the door, soaking wet and smiling pitifully Joan will cave in, like she always does. Maybe not forgive her, not this time around, but she will get her a towel and leave a blanket on the sofa and grunt something about being out of the house by morning. Maybe that’s why Hercules is there, to make sure Alex goes quietly and doesn’t wring out the last drops of Joan’s tenderness until she’s spent dry.

Alex shoves her hands into her pockets and turns on her heels.

She finds herself in some dive bar a few neighborhoods over. She orders house liquor that smells exactly like nail varnish remover and cusses off the few idiots who try to chat her up until they slink back to yell at the tv with their buddies. Some game is on of course, Joan would know which team they should be rooting for but Alex honestly has no clue.

Except Joan is gone.

Joan is over.

She picks up a napkin and starts to shred it into tiny pieces, pretending she doesn’t notice the chastising look the bartender shoots her way.

Hamilton has fucked up before, ask anyone, she has fucked up in relationships more times than she cares to count. Falling is easy; she does it like she does everything else, without a hint of hesitation or consideration. Usually accompanied by copious amounts of writing - Joan has a bedside drawer-full of sonnets she’s written for her freckles alone. It’s the everyday-stuff that she sucks at. The anniversaries. The quiet afternoons. Putting the dishes back into the cupboard without being asked.

Still, she has never self-destructed quite like this before. Just, one afternoon they’d been watching Friends on the couch together and during the commercial break Joan’s thumb had absentmindedly rubbed at Alexandra’s ring finger, probably without her even realizing. And suddenly it had hit her, how real it all was. How Laurens from accounting would be her whole future if she let her.

And then there had been Jefferson. Jefferson with her lazy Southern drawl, her slow knowing smirk, her canine-like white teeth. Openly flirting with Hamilton at work, probably just to get a rise out of her. And she’d had the audacity to be _clever_ as well, those dark eyes flashing with sharp amusement whenever Alex spoke as if she was just humoring her by letting her finish the sentence, as if she knew already exactly where the argument was going and how to tear it apart. Always challenging her to be better, faster, smarter. And Alexandra’s stupid fucking brain had gone _that, you’ll miss out on that if you settle down now, and when Joan gets fed up with you you’ll have nothing._

And, God, she’s thought, she’d thought she should just fuck that burning sneering stare out of her system, just to show herself the disappointing reality of it, to prove herself she wouldn’t be missing out if she just settled for the good thing for once and didn’t mindlessly chase after every shiny thing that managed to hold her attention for longer than a few minutes.

A shit end for a shit plan, who would have guessed.

Alexandra’s mind will eat her alive if she spends the night alone in a motel room. She downs her drink but doesn’t get another one.

Jefferson won’t let her in if she shows up wasted, or crying.

* * *

It does start to rain during the walk to Jefferson’s townhouse. Not a proper, theatrical The Notebook-type rain but one of those annoying drizzles that doesn’t quite warrant an umbrella but ruins your hair nevertheless. She’ll be a frizzy, hot mess by the time she reaches Jefferson’s porch, but it’s not like it matters. She’ll get berated no matter what her getup.

Alexandra almost wishes Theresa’s wife was still alive just so that she could show up and make a scene, ruin their marriage in return. It’s a bad thought that makes her a bad person but what else is new?

Like Joan, Jefferson leaves the door half open, her tall frame blocking most of the light from the hallway and casting a shadow over Alex. She raises an eyebrow at Alexandra’s clammy skin, frizzy curls and work clothes (somewhat neat jeans and a blazer are her idea of appropriate office wear) and leans on the door frame with her hip.

“The hell are you doing here?”

_Jefferson_ of course looks like she’s modeling for a business casual fashion issue in the privacy of her home; stripped of her purple Armani jacket but still in the matching, tailor-fit pencil skirt, the sleeves of her pressed shirt rolled up to her elbows and massive afro pulled away from her face with a silky bandana.

Alex raises a bottle of wine she’d grabbed from some corner bodega on the way. “An emergency late-night meeting?”

Theresa merely deliberates her for a moment, her head cocked to the side and eyes slightly narrowed. “So Laurens finally figured it out, huh?”

Alexandra grinds her molars together and casts her eyes down to the tiling of the porch.

“Or did she just get sick of the whole, ya know…” Jefferson gestures vaguely at Alex and she takes the time to wonder why she’s here, how she ever ended up here.

Right, because she deserves this. Deserves someone who treats her like she deserves to be treated.

The good thing about fucking around with someone who thinks very little of you to begin with - no expectations to live up to.

Jefferson grunts affrontedly when Alex pushes past her into the apartment.

“Don’t be a bitch, I can see you’re not doing anything anyway,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Doesn’t mean I want to tolerate you off work hours,” Jefferson shouts after her, but follows Alex down the hall and into the pristine kitchen.

Alex flinches inwardly at how easily she finds the cupboard with the wine glasses _(actually used to this, heartless slut),_ and strains to reach the top shelve - Jefferson probably keeps them there just to spite her, personally. Her shirt hikes up and cool fingers slide over the exposed scrap of skin on her lower tummy.

Theresa snorts at her loud yelp and slides her other hand up Alexandra’s side, manicured nails drumming against her ribcage.

“What kind of teleportation bullshit was that?” Alex gasps and tries to even out her accelerated breathing.

“I’m not drinking that cheap shit,” Jefferson mouths against the thin, sensitive skin right behind Alexandra’s earlobe, easily accessible thanks to her usual sloppy ponytail.

Alex, as always, unfolds under Theresa’s touch. There’s nothing liberating or soothing about it, it’s more like being pried open and left exposed and throbbing, like carcass on highway. Her hand reaches back blindly and finds the back of Jefferson’s head, pushes her mouth against the crook of her neck insistently.

Jefferson bites down, holds the skin there between her teeth like she really does want to rip Alexandra’s throat out and leave her bleeding. The scrape of teeth against her pulse point raises goosebumps on Alexandra’s skin, accelerates her breathing and cranks her senses up into their highest settings. One of the hands under Alexandra’s shirt yanks down her bra and Jefferson rolls a nipple between her fingers.

“So needy, Alexandra,” she practically purrs into the soft baby hairs at the back of Hamilton’s neck. Alexandra’s spine bends into slope as she strains against that aggravatingly light brush of fingers on the hardening nub.

One of Jefferson’s hands wraps over her throat while the other one slips down to pop the button of her jeans and she’s trapped, there, between the kitchen counter and Jefferson’s tall frame and she can’t breathe she can’t parse anything except that hand that’s slipping past the waistband of her jeans and pressing down and dragging slowly against sensitive throbbing skin, still over the thin fabric of her panties. The dregs of Theresa’s day old perfume mixed with the scent of Alexandra’s own arousal fogs up her mind with every shuddering breath she takes.

Of course Jefferson ruins it by opening her mouth.

“Is it really that good for you, then? Is it worth it?” Her voice is a low, self-satisfied purr with a mocking edge to it, as usual. Alexandra wants to say something biting but Jefferson’s hand tightens on her throat and those long, delicate fingers press against her clit and all she can do is gasp. “If must be since you threw away you cute little relationship so readily, just for _this.”_

There’s nothing she can really say, anyway. Theresa snorts at Alexandra’s spiteful silence, threads a hand into her hair and pushes down.

“Bend over.”

Alexandra does and the surface of the kitchen counter is freezing against her skin and it’s like Joan’s bloodshot eyes are projected over the insides of her closed eyelids. She needs Jefferson to punish her, she needs Jefferson to mess her up.

Jefferson pushes Alexandra’s jeans and panties down her thighs and nudges her legs as much apart as they’ll go with the constraints of the clothes. One of Jefferson’s hands is still tightly fisted in the base of her ponytail, pressing her cheek into the cold marble of the counter, while the other one sweeps, feather light, over her cunt.

“Work is gonna be a shitshow tomorrow,” she says conversationally as one of her fingers finally presses inside Alex, while another one rubs against her swollen clit. Alex draws in a shaky lungful of air and resists the urge to rut back against the slow, languid press of the fingers. “Laurens was actually disgustingly in love with you so I can only imagine the dramatics that will follow.”

Suddenly Jefferson adds another finger and presses down, probes until she finds Alexandra’s g-spot, and simultaneously rolls the tip of her finger over her clitoris. It never takes Jefferson long to find her buttons. A quiet little whine escapes Alexandra’s mouth. She might be crying a bit but she’s not sure.

“Too bad this pussy has belonged to me for a while now.” Theresa’s voice is low and getting slightly raspy.

_She doesn’t mean it,_ Alexandra reminds herself through the haze turning her mind into mush. She’s not stupid, she knows by now that Jefferson will be singing a different tune as soon as she’s done orgasming. It’s just a fantasy, a role, and Alexandra can’t let herself get lost in this or the comedown will be too much combined with Joan’s hollow laugh and empty eyes.

Alex presses her palms flat against the counter and tries to lift her head up. As expected, the hand in her hair tightens as a response. It sends sparks of pain dancing across her scalp and the edge of Theresa's manicured nail is dragging painfully against something inside her as the rhythm of the fingers speeds up and it’s what she deserves. It’s not Joan’s tongue sliding languidly against hers and soft fingers slipping between her legs early in the morning when they should be getting ready for work, it’s not a pair of lips gently sucking and nibbling on her earlobe until she relents and stops typing something in favor of getting dinner. It’s not everything she doesn’t deserve and more.

Jefferson pulls her fingers out in favor of rubbing them over Alexandra’s clit in relentless, quick circles that sometimes dip into the wetness between her legs. They slide over the bundle of nerves with ease and turn her into a twitching, moaning mess. Her hands tremble against the counter.

She lets out a shrill yelp when Jefferson suddenly yanks on her hair and forces her upright. Three fingers push into her mouth and Alex licks the slightly salty wetness off them obediently.

Jefferson’s lips press against the back of her neck briefly. “C’mon.”

Alex has no choice but to let Jefferson drag her into the stairwell from her elbow even though her legs are too shaky and unsteady to carry her with anything resembling grace. She catches a brief glimpse of a framed photo of Jefferson and her late wife on some beach with a dog she’s never seen, but as usual she’s too busy tripping over her feet as she’s dragged into the bedroom to get a good look.

Theresa kicks the bedroom door shut and pushes Alex unceremoniously on her back on the bed. She strips off her lace panties, but doesn’t bother with the skirt, just hikes it up her waist as she crawls on top of Alex. She smirks down at her, eyes even darker than usual.

“You can make yourself come once you’ve done your job,” Theresa says and Alex eagerly slides downwards on the mattress until her head is between her legs.

She knows from experience that even when face-sitting Jefferson likes to be in control, so she just obediently pushes her tongue out and runs her hands up Jefferson’s spread thighs. Sure enough, Jefferson yanks the elastic out of her hair so that she can get a better hold of it and holds Alexandra’s head in place as she sinks down.

An appreciative hiss leaves Jefferson’s lips and Alexandra’s eyes slide closed. This is the part she needs the most; just being a convenient, willing mouth to be used. As Theresa’s taste and scent overwhelm her senses she can’t see Joan’s trembling fingers of Hercules’ avoidant gaze. She’s nothing.

Alex dips her tongue as deep inside Jefferson as she can, and slowly drags it between her lips and over her clit. Jefferson groans and the hand in Alexandra’s hair tightens.

“Good girl,” she purrs, probably looking down at Alex. She can’t tell, her eyes are tightly shut. Even Jefferson’s praise is always laced with malice; clearly accompanied by the implication this is the only thing she’s good for. Jefferson moans and grinds down on Alexandra’s mouth, leaves her to figure out how to breathe on her own, and Alexandra’s jaw is starting to ache and her face is slick with spit and Jefferson’s wetness and this is what she deserves.

One of Alexandra’s hands leaves Jefferson’s hips and slips between her own legs. She pushes against the mattress and grinds into her own palm in tandem with Jefferson’s hips, thinks about that time Jefferson made Alex straddle her in her office chair and grind against her thigh until she came, trembling with equal parts of lust and humiliation.

It’s a bad idea since it calls to mind how Joan waited up for her that day, welcomed her home with a long soul-wrenching kiss and a drawn bath which Alex declined because she wasn’t totally sure there wouldn’t be marks.

God, she’d really thought she could just buy Joan a fucking doughnut and try her best not to eat Jefferson out in a supply closet the next time she gets the chance. She’d really thought that would be enough.

“Fuck, Alex,” Theresa moans and her hand pulls on Alexandra’s hair so hard it borders on painful. Alex lets her hand fall from between her legs and licks Jefferson through the orgasm until she jerks away with a groan.

“Good girl,” she repeats, breathless, and straightens up her skirt.

Alex stares at the ceiling and swallows, again and again, but it’s no use.

“Awh, hey,” Theresa sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. Alexandra twists away from her and hides her face as the first sob breaks out of her chest.

Theresa sighs again and lies down next to Alex, loops an arm under her and pulls her close. Her other hand slips down, between Alexandra’s legs.

“C’mon, let me take care of you,” she murmurs and her lips close around Alexandra’s collar bone.

The unwarranted gentleness turns the lump in Alexandra’s throat into a solid brick and she wants to hiss at Jefferson like a wounded animal. But instead she just lies there, quivering, palms over her face and hips chanting slightly into the skilled fingers patiently taking her apart.

Tolerating the positive attention pays off when her mind finally goes blank with the pulsing pleasure and she strains and twitches, off the mattress and into Theresa’s teeth and tongue.

“There we go,” Jefferson mutters and pats on Hamilton’s hip. She sits up. “I’ll make you a bed on the sofa, alright?”

Alex swallows again but the lump in her throat isn’t going anywhere. She lifts her hands from her face just to glare. “What, can’t defile you and dear Martha’s bedsheets by sleeping in them with another woman after you’re done fucking her?”

Jefferson’s shoulders tense up. The funny thing about her is that she always looks kind of mean (to Hamilton at least), but when she’s truly angry her face turns totally expressionless. The only other time Alex has seen this was after she convinced Washington to cut the French shareholders loose.

“Oh right,” Jefferson says, her voice cold and cutting. “I forgot you treat people who show you kindness like shit. My mistake.”

Alexandra sits up and wipes at the mess of tears and cum on her face with the sleeve of her shirt. “Yeah.”

“You know, people tell me I judge you too harshly.” Jefferson stands up and smooths down the wrinkles of her clothes. She looks down at Alex with contempt. “But I don’t think they realize I’ll never hate you as much as you hate yourself.”

Not for the first time this evening, Alex has nothing to say. She stands as well and does her jeans up.

“See you at work.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know these sort of stories usually have a little “don’t cheat on your partner that’s shitty”-note at the end but I think it’s pretty clear that absolutely no one in this scenario is happy.
> 
> The next one will be more kink and less sad.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Almost Like Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790988) by [Taylexander_Hamilton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taylexander_Hamilton/pseuds/Taylexander_Hamilton)




End file.
